by John Molloy
"You should go to the shipping company first and have as much information as possible when you arrive at the Yard; you know how easily they can dismiss something if they get a hint that there is not much merit in it."
"I'll travel down the day before and do the business with the shipping company. I hope they will co-operate. Can I approach them in an official capacity and show that this investigation is a fully fledged Yard operation?"
"Yes, I think you will get more co-operations from them if you make it official. There's nothing like a working officer to get people sitting up and taking notice."
"Thanks Stanley, I feel much more confident when I can work with official sanction."
Henry stood up.
"Will you have the same again?"
"Make it a scotch. I'm beginning to feel this is going somewhere and I'm so glad for you Henry. Let’s make it a little celebration."
Henry arrived back with two double scotches. When they left at closing time and some four or five doubles later, they were both nicely mellowed!
Chapter Five
Two days later Henry was on the early train to London, the biggest quest of his life before him. He had made out a list of questions he wanted to ask, but he was yet uncertain of whom in the company he would interview. He'd been to his local bookshop the previous day and picked up a copy of a monthly publication called Sea Breezes. He settled down now and began to browse through the magazine in the hope he might pick up some information about shipping and shipping management. He noted some of the top men mentioned were captains and served now as superintendents - others were referred to as masters. He wished now he had read more nautical books prior to his visit. As the train clicked-clacked and lurched along, he at times felt he was on the heaving ocean. His imagination even carried him to some far off continents and steaming hot tropical ports. He felt a little more confident as he alighted at Cable Street Station.
He had a light lunch in a café on Christian Street where he read over his magazine again. He headed for Belgrave Street, with its tall old buildings and their shinning brass plaques. The area had changed little since Nelson's time. He found Carlisle Brent Shipping on the first floor, sharing the building with three other shipping companies. The wide low stepped staircase was bedecked with large pictures of ships from square riggers to modern day steam ships, and on the first landing, set into the wall a large glass case displayed a beautiful full rigged clipper ship. He pushed open the huge teak door, a brass plate a foot deep across its middle with its smooth worn lettering, "Carlisle Brent Shipping". A wide timber counter divided the room. A petite woman with her hair tied up in a bun and wired rim glasses balanced on her nose, looked up to see what had interrupted her typing. Henry thought that David Copperfield and the miserable Uriah Heep would not be out of place here.
He volunteered a good afternoon.
The woman was fresh faced with light auburn colored hair. When she got closer he saw she was quite prim, wearing stern attire like a schoolmistress. In fact, everything about her was severe, as if she had done all she could to dampen any familiarity at the outset. Her hair was pulled so tightly to the nape of her neck that it looked as if it might be painful. Her features were certainly different, even attractive if they had been given the chance. But her whole demeanor exuded a cold aloofness.
Henry introduced himself. He realized he needed to display much official gravitas to get past this particular sentry.
"What can I do for you?"
"I want to speak to your Marine Superintendent please," he replied in the most commanding voice he could muster.
"Captain Leavy-Hobbs is not in his office at the minute. If you'd like to take a seat, I'm sure he won't be long.
Her blue-gray eyes were icily passive. I don’t think I'd like to be questioning her, thought Henry. He wondered if she had been physically or mentally aroused in her life. She could have been any age, in her thirties or possibly older. Is she cradling a broken heart, a lost mariner perhaps? he further mused.
After a while, the tip-tapping of the typewriter had soothed Henry into a sort of hypnotic trance. How long he’d sat there he couldn't say.
"Captain Leavy-Hobbs will see you now, Detective Inspector Carter."
She led him into an inner office and as he walked over to where a man was seated behind a large leather topped desk. The man got up and walked round to shake hands. The firm hand shake told him all he wanted to know about this man; hard, strict and honest were the words that came to his mind.
"Sit down Detective Carter."
"Thank you sir."
"Now then, Detective Carter, what can I do for you?”
“If you'll bear with me sir, I'll go over my story and then you can decide what is the best way for me to go about this unwholesome matter, and if and how best you may be able to help me."
"Go ahead detective, I'm a good listener."
After Henry had finished his detailed account the mariner stood up and proffered his hand to Henry. "My deepest and heartfelt sympathy. I will do all in my power to help you catch him. Especially as you think he might be a crew member on our S.S. Rangoon which is quite possible. Some of the men I've sailed with over the years could have been criminals, but as they moved around the world and only spent a short time in port, it would have been difficult for the authorities in these countries to investigate them. By the way Detective Carter, seeing we are going to be working together for some time, could you call me by my Christian name, Robert or Bob for short."
"Thanks Bob, and you can call me Henry."
The captain sat down on the chair behind his desk and placed his hands flat on the desktop. “Now!” he exclaimed, “where to start?” This was neither a question nor a statement. "Firstly, we should get a crew list of our ship which is going to be simple enough, then that leaves us with a potential of forty suspects from the master to the galley boy."
"Bob, could we get a copy of her voyages for the last twelve months?"
"Yes, that would be no problem but how do you think that would help?"
"The senior men at Scotland Yard believe that this man is a serial killer and he has killed girls in other places. Maybe not here in Britain but possibly abroad. We will have to make inquiries in these foreign ports to see if there have been any similar type of crimes and whether or not the time of the ship's stay in that port fits in with them."
"Yes, I see where you're coming from now. Also, you will want to know if the same crew members were on her because she probably changed articles twice in that year. By that I mean she would sign off her crew and sign on a new crew. Not many would stay on for a second voyage; they would take a few weeks leave and sign on another of the company’s ships. I'll have to dig out all that information for you."
"When do you think you could get all that together for me?"
"I'll have it for you soon, if you can drop by.
"Yes, I will be in town for a few more days."
"Would a ten o’clock appointment suit you?”
“Yes, that will be fine.”
Henry got up to leave and leaned in over the big desk with outstretched hand.
"Thank you Bob, you've been such a great help."
"Well Henry, this is only the beginning of what I can see as a long and very arduous investigation and to bring it to a successful conclusion is not in my opinion going to be easy."
Henry found himself a guest house not too far from the shipping offices, and having enjoyed a meal with three other guests at a convivial table, he decided it was time for an early night. Before turning off the bedside lamp, he spent some time re-reading his new friend, the Sea Breezes magazine and gleaned a lot more useful information from it. Knowing if he were to bring this investigation to a successful conclusion, he would have read similar books and would need to learn an awful lot more about seamanship. He was also painfully aware of his lack of knowledge of global geography and added a world atlas book to his mental shopping list. Eventually, with the bedside light still b
urning, he fell asleep into a world of mighty ships and vast expanses of ocean.
An early morning had him out and about. After reading a copy of The Times in a nearby café, he was outside Scotland Yard ready for his nine o’clock appointment.
He was expected at reception and ushered to a room at the back of the building on the first floor. A pretty young receptionist spoke in a low tone as she opened the door to a room.
"They're expecting you."
There were two men seated at a large desk. The smaller of the two stood up. "Come in Henry."
He walked over and shook hands.
"I suppose no one told you who you were meeting? I'm Tom Frazer, I'm going to try and help you get inside this fellow’s head and get us some clues as to his psyche. Try to draw up some kind of psychoanalysis to help you identify, and maybe pinpoint some weakness in his character that will make him talk or boast about his crimes."
He walked Henry over to the desk and introduced him to the other man. "Vincent Benedict, Henry Carter."
Henry was surprised to meet someone as old. He was also a portly man. Henry guessed he was at least seventy with a full head of thick white hair. Henry could tell that he was once a very handsome man. He had unusual light brown, almost amber eyes, like those of a wild cat. He met Henry’s eyes with a strong but sympathetic gaze. "I'm very sorry for your sad loss. I've been coaxed out of retirement to help you Henry."
"Thank you, may I call you Vincent?"
He seemed to involuntarily take over proceedings. He had a commanding presence.
"Let’s be seated gentlemen. We shall be on first name terms; there will be no such thing as rank or seniority. The three of us will work as a team. This is the only way we are going to make any progress with this investigation."
He noticed Henry looking at him with disappointment written all over his face. "Henry, I see you are a little disappointed with my remark when I didn't categorically say we are going to solve this crime and bring the perpetrator to justice. To start with, we have very little to go on, and even if we establish that the suspect is a crewman on this ship, what's she called?"
“The Rangoon," Henry chipped in.
"Yes, the "S.S.Rangoon."
He continued, “If the murderer stays at sea and doesn’t once set foot on dry land, how can we conduct the investigation?"
Tom Frazer, a slight man in his early forties, with black slicked back hair could easily have been taken for a Cockney villain, leaned his light frame on the desk and spoke in a slow and calculated tone. "I've been pondering this situation since I heard that Henry was coming down here to meet with us. I spent time down the docks and went on board some of the big cargo vessels to try and get some understanding of life on board these ships. I've also had a few pints in some of the dockside pubs from time-to-time and I’ve seen at first-hand what these seamen are really like. It's hard from the little I've gleaned to pigeon-hole them. They can be a very mixed lot of personalities, colors and creeds."
"That was very thorough of you Tom and leads me to our next and first big quest. We have first and foremost to establish with certainty that our man is sailing on the Rangoon. Henry, have you any ideas how we can go about this?" asked Vincent.
"I was at the shipping office yesterday. Carlisle Brent Shipping. They have their offices in Belgrave Street, a short walk away. I met the marine superintendent and he couldn't have been more helpful. He's going to get the crew lists for the last twelve months and also a list of all the ports she called at and how long she stayed in each. He'll also find who left and who signed back on when the ship changed articles. Our job then will be to contact all the ports she visited and see if there any similar crimes committed while this ship was in port.”
“Very good. And when we have all her ports of call, hopefully, we can then get some information about crimes in these countries. Policing in some far-eastern countries leaves a lot to be desired. Not to our standards. Life can be cheap in many of these places."
Henry agreed. "Yes, and I believe she traded to India, Burma, Egypt, Pakistan, East Africa, and as far as Japan, and China. This gives us some idea how many countries we might have to get co-operation from."
Vincent Benedict moved his bulky frame to a more comfortable position in his chair. "Now then, there's paper and pen here. Henry, you write down what we need from the shipping company."
"Number one, a crew list for the present crew and all changes of crew going back twelve months - if you think that is far enough back?"
"Yes I think so said Tom. Considering the type of man I think we are dealing with, he will have committed similar crimes in places where he would be very likely to get away undetected. The only thing is if the killing of Henry's niece is his first, we will have to monitor the ship's movements and ports for the next twelve months at least. The crew lists and her changes will give us a breakdown on that score. I will not go so far as yet to put a profile of this man together until we have some positive details of a possible suspect."
"I have arrangements to meet Captain Leavy-Hobbs tomorrow afternoon and he should have that information ready for me," enthused Henry.
"That would be marvelous, and I will be trying to work out how, if our man is indeed on board the ship, how are we going to get to him - any ideas?" He looked at Henry and Tom with intense, searching eyes, his tight-lipped mouth, slowly turning to a half smile. "Did any of you ever contemplate a life in the merchant navy?"
Tom's mischievous grin made him a candidate, and Henry's mock serious frown had him with one foot on the gangway.
"It'll most likely cost me a divorce but I'm up for it," said Tom.
"I'm already feeling sea sick," was Henry’s response.
"That commitment will do me. It’s too soon to call, but I've a positive feeling about this one. We’ll make a good team."
Vincent stood up to end the meeting, and leaning over he laid a hand on Henry's shoulder.
"With God's help Henry, with God’s help."
Chapter Six
The rest of his day was spent sightseeing, taking in several art galleries and museums.
The late summer evening was warm as the heat of the day still radiated from the concrete and stone of the city. Henry strolled along the streets by the River Thames where the elegant buildings lent him a feeling of comfort and belonging. London held that magic ambience that nourished the pride of an Englishman; here he knew was the birthplace of all things British. He felt proud as he stood on Tower Bridge and watched the ships and barges sailing the mighty river. He thought it his duty if it ever came to it, to sail away on a ship and be part of the great naval tradition of this country - his would be a unique duty.
The next morning was bright and hot as he walked to his appointment, crossing busy streets and dodging morning traffic. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry, boys on messenger bicycles with big laden baskets, cars, black London cabs and trucks laden with goods coming and going to the docks.
By contrast, the shipping office was quiet as a church, an orderly sanctuary away from the bustle of the streets. The polite and very correct secretary showed him to a stiff and solid African hard wood chair. She proffered her small delicate hand. "Sir, may I call you Mr. Carter?"
"Yes but of course, I'd prefer if you'd call me Henry." He held her delicate, childlike hand in his. Her attractive blue-ray eyes seemed to be searching his soul - she made no effort to disengage the handshake.
"My introduction to the civilized world is, Veronica Martha Twist. A little bit of a mouthful but the older generation believed in stamping our presence with plenty of aplomb. You may call me Vera…" She hesitated slightly, "Henry." She released the handgrip and brushed ever so delicately against him as she bent to take a magazine from the seat of the chair. Henry felt a pert breast brush against his upper arm.
"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Vera."
"I'm sure we'll be seeing quite a bit of one another. Captain Leavy-Hobbs asked me to be of as much assistance to you as you deem
necessary. So anything I can help you with, don’t hesitate to ask. I don’t want to be inquisitive about your work, but I am Captain Leavy-Hobbs's personal secretary and confidentiality is paramount."
"I'm sure it is Vera, and I may need all the assistance I can get from yourself and the good captain."
"You may have to wait about ten minutes. One of our ships arrived into East India Dock last night and her Master is with Captain Leavy-Hobbs at the moment. I'm making tea now, would you like me to include you in the pot?"
"Thank you that would be kind of you."
She went through a door at the end of the office. No doubt a small kitchen plus private quarters, thought Henry. A person he mused, with a deceiving amount of qualities and surprising interests, like a diamond with lots of facets that when caught by light could probably burst into shafts of brilliance. He could hear the clink of china and cutlery emanating from her scullery and reverberating around the walls and ceilings of the great old room like an irregular heartbeat.
Moments later she appeared carrying a large tray she seemed to be struggling with, and laid it on the counter top. She poured from the china teapot with its little spout sticking out through the tea cozy.
"Sugar Henry."
"Two please and milk." She laid two ginger nut cookies on the saucer and took her tray to the door leading to the inner sanctum where Captain Leavy-Hobbs was in conference with the ship's master.
"Could you please knock for me, Henry?"
He knocked on the paneled door and turned the knob to let her enter. Vera spoke loudly.
"Tea sirs."
"Come in please."
Putting the tray down on a side table, she carefully poured the tea and quietly left the room.
"Captain Leavy-Hobbs will see you shortly, would you like some more tea?"
"Yes, thank you Vera."
"You'll be glad to know, Henry that all you asked Captain Leavy-Hobbs for is ready for you, it took me a bit of time to get it all sorted out. If you have any other queries I'm sure I can help you with them."